Debbie Roth

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By the end of its first week, the leveret gradually started drinking more vigorously. Its tiny ivory-coloured paws would grip the bottle near my hand, or knead the air in a trembling, milky ecstasy, while its short ears vibrated behind its head and its velvety pad of a nose worked constantly, and its fan of whiskers tickled my hands and my face as I bent over it.
Raising Hare: A Memoir
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